Freddie Woo writes: I've still got weird feelings for a well-known female TV presenter from the 1980s. I'm now in my forties, work in the same building as her and she follows me on a number of social networking sites. And now, she knows about it.

She just arrived at our school one day
transferred from where, I never knew. I was 15 and she was the prettiest girl in the school by a country mile. Her school skirt was a good three inches above the knee which is where every other girl's skirt was, but that's beside the point. I didn't see her as fwapping-fodder, I didn't look at her and start building up steam. She was just gorgeous, sweet and lovely. Milky white skin, which bear in mind she was 15 was as flawless as an infants, blonde curly locks tumbling down her cheeks, big blue eyes and a smile that took my breath away.

She was also deaf.

Well, hard of hearing anyway. A couple of other girls had come to the school at the same time, both of which wore hearing aids and they all hung around together. That coupled with the fact that Angie knew an awful lot of sign language. But unlike her friends, she didn't wear an aid, and I never heard her speak either. A bit like Vinnie Jones in Gone in 60 Seconds.

She appeared in my GCSE geography class, and because of where she'd sat half-way across the room, I could keep an eye on the teacher at the front and still be able to gaze across at her. Every so often she'd look over my way and I'd look away again hoping she didn't see me staring. One lesson, the teacher was at the front rattling on about urban decay and green belts and some such stuff and I glanced over to her and she was staring over at me. I quickly looked away, pretended to write something down, and glanced back over. She was still looking. She fixed my gaze for a good few seconds, and then she gave a small almost imperceptible wave. I waved back, I think she could see the elation on my face, she looked into my eyes and then, she smiled. Oh that radiant, sweet sweet smile of hers. My iron-clad teenage insouciance just crumbled away, my heart skipped a beat, the butterflies in my stomach took flight and I may even have gasped. This wasn't a crush, I was in love.

I had cramp from smiling that day and I had never looked forward so much to double geography. Those 3 days were the longest 72 hours I have ever endured, but it finally came and I sat down at my desk. She wasn't sitting at her desk, in fact the desk was gone and had been replaced with some sort of prehistoric piece of AV equipment. I felt the pit of my stomach spasm, thinking she'd moved to a different class. But then she walked in, noticed her desk was gone, wandered over and plonked herself down at the only spare desk in the room. The one opposite me. I whimpered, slightly disorientated by this gargantuan rush of good fortune. She looked over, smiled and mouthed the word 'hiya'. I thought my heart was going to burst. My heart was going to burst, I was going to collapse holding my chest and expire right there and then on the classroom floor. Somehow, with a great presence of mind which I've never managed to exhibit since, I managed to compose myself. I smiled back and said 'Hi'.

Halfway through the lesson, the teacher left the room for a few minutes. As is typical with your average unsupervised classroom, bedlam erupts, but Angie and I are quiet. We gaze at each other, not saying a word. Then I remember. After the previous lesson, I had gone to the library and read through a shit-load of Shakespeare's Sonnets. I committed one to heart, the 18th, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?". I reasoned that as well as sign language, her lip-reading would also be first rate, so I tell myself that I must enunciate each word.

So I began, against the cacophony of 27 other wayward kids, hoping none of them would notice ..

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

etc etc. She was gripped by it. Mesmerised. The words flowed from my mouth and yet my mind was wandering, examining her beautiful, perfect face. How I could cast a spell with just a few lines of prose. She remained focussed to the last syllable. I finally ended,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Her expression said it all. She was entranced. She would be like putty in my hands. I must strike now and ask her out. She smiled, leant over and kissed me on the cheek and sat back down. I was in shock. My eyes widened, my heart pounded. There weren't butterflies in my stomach, it was a flock of lovebirds. I felt my testicles retract into my body. I was trembling. I must be strong I told myself, and with a great deal of strength, I asked her out on a date.

She mulled it over, her face dropped slightly, almost invisibly, and said 'no'. I was still on a high, and it never really bothered me. Maybe deep down it was what I was expecting. I shrugged it off, "Ah well, it was worth a try" or words to that effect.

That night, I didn't wash my face. I went to bed, turned the light out and thought about Angie. Then it hit me, I cringed. I physically cringed. That cringing when you go into spasms and go 'nyarrr', almost in pain. Fist biting cringing. I realised the faux-pas of biblical proportions that I had committed. I realised why she'd turned me down.

you're getting so many clicks for this...
That was brilliant. I know all the feelings you just described so well. I don't know your luck quite so well though, I'm afraid. Congratulations on painting a picture of serenity amidst an atmosphere of cacophony. Nice little punch-line too.